Esprit de Corps
by Meridianpony
Summary: Finn sees dead people. The catch? They all share the same face.
1. Ghosts

They've always been there, but FN-2187 ignores them. He has to. FN-3764 claimed to see invisible people, too, but she made the mistake of telling an officer.

She's gone now, and everyone knows she's not coming back.

FN-2187 doesn't ever remember not being able to see them. They're everywhere, and they speak, too—usually not when FN-2187 is around, but on occasion he rounds a corner to find several standing together, whispering to one another. They always fall silent until he marches past.

He doesn't know much about them except that they're all dead. They move as if solid, but they can drift through durasteel without any effort at all, as nonmaterial as mist. In the beginning he thinks they're stormtroopers. They wear armor that at first glance appears to be standard issue, but it isn't the design FN-2187 is used to seeing—it's outdated, with sharp edges and blocky shapes instead of rounded edges and sleek shapes. They aren't stormtroopers. They're… something else.

He makes the mistake of walking through one only once. The moment he does he's overwhelmed by such a cacophony of emotion that he'd stopped dead in his tracks, and it was only sheer luck that allowed him to recover before anyone noticed.

The ghost, when he'd risked a glance back, hadn't seemed perturbed, even though FN-2187 was all but shaking in his armor. The man had stared back at him, the expression on his face perfectly neutral.

… And that's another thing.

The ghosts all have the same face.

They're all fairly young, with the same bronze skin and the same nose and the same eyebrows and the same chin. Sometimes the hair is different, and some have little tattoos, but there's so many of them that FN-2187 quickly loses track despite the minor differences. He can't risk getting a closer look, either.

He wonders who they are, and why they hang around, but he knows he's not going to get answers. In the First Order, the curious are first to disappear. FN-2187 is a good soldier, one of the best in his class, and his superior officers have high hopes for him.

He learns to ignore the ghostly figures, eventually. There is no place for them in FN-2187's mind. Time passes. They fade to the background, easily ignored and only visible if he looks for them.

He doesn't. He has other things to worry about.

* * *

Slip gets hit by one of the training turrets on the last open stretch to the enemy base. FN-2187 doesn't see him go down, but the entire squad hears the muffled curse he lets out as he drops.

" _Did Slip just get hit_ again?" Zeroes asks incredulously over comms. He and Nines are surging ahead across the simulated battlefield. FN-2187 drops down into cover as a barrage of lasers streak past. Careful to keep his head beneath the safety of the barrier, he glances back down the training room in an effort to glimpse their fallen squadmate.

"I can't see him," he reports quickly. "He could have fallen behind a barrier, or even moved there himself."

" _You kidding me?"_ Nines mutters. " _We might not be able to complete the course if we're a man down."_ FN-2187 risks a glance around the edge of his barrier to try and locate him and Zeroes. It's a bit difficult—their newly issued stormtrooper armor blends in with the white tiles of the giant training arena. They're several yards in front of him, similarly crouched behind a barrier. The turrets have pinned everyone down. FN-2187 clenches his fist around his blaster and looks back again.

"Slip could still be in this" he tells his squad. "Hang on."

" _Eight-seven, don't do anything stu_ —"

FN-2187 is already moving. He doesn't allow himself time to think about it. The turrets are more focused on his closer teammates, and don't pick him out until he's vaulting over a barrier several yards back. Blaster bolts singe the top of his helmet as he slides down into cover once more. His heart pounds as the plasma impacts audibly with the other side.

" _Sithspit, Eight-seven, you still alive?"_

"Yeah," FN-2187 says breathlessly. He glances over to the side and sighs when he notices the still white body lying next to him. "I found Slip, too. He's—"

"Not done," Slip groans suddenly, raising his head. FN-2187 jumps and nearly hits him with the butt of his blaster in surprise. He'd thought his squadmate was unconscious.

" _Thought you were done for, Slip,"_ Nines says blithely. His words are interspersed with the sounds of his blaster firing. " _They get you, or no?"_

"Yeah, yeah, they got me," Slip grumbles. "But I'm not out this yet."

" _Eight-seven?"_ Zeroes asks—telling him to make the call. FN-2187 frowns as he shifts forwards to inspect his comrade. The training turrets don't spit out anything lethal, but the plasma bolts are designed to paralyze from a direct hit. Slip isn't completely paralyzed, but he hasn't attempted to get up yet, which isn't a good sign.

"Where, Slip?" FN-2187 asks. He can't see his squadmate's face beneath the helmet, but he can imagine the scowl across the man's face. Slip hesitates for a long moment.

"Leg," he finally answers through gritted teeth. "My lower half is useless."

FN-2187 rolls him over to get a better look at the scorch mark on his thigh. It had only been a graze, but Slip is paralyzed from the waist down all the same.

He won't be of any use to them.

"He's done," FN-2187 reports tonelessly, turning to leave. "We'll have to do it with three."

"No, you—wait, Eight-seven, I can—" Slip grabs onto FN-2187's wrist. "I can still fight. I can still use my arms."

FN-2187 shakes him off.

"We're out of range, and if I try to drag you any closer the turrets will pick us both off," FN-2187 explains hurriedly, unsure of why he's justifying himself. Slip is useless now. He'll only slow the squad down. If a trooper can't manage themselves, they aren't fit to return to the First Order. That's the way things are, the way they've always been. Slip should know this.

" _What's the holdup, Eight-seven? We need you up here,"_ Nines calls. " _If we can't take down these turrets somehow, we'll never even get close to the base."_

"On my way," FN-2187 answers. "Give me just a second."

He rises as much as he dares with the turrets still active. Slip struggles to raise himself to a sitting position.

"Eight-seven, come on! If I don't finish this, I fail!"

FN-2187 takes a deep breath and turns away from him.

"Eight-seven— _Eight-seven!_ Don't—!"

 _He's dead,_ FN-2187 thinks. _He goes down, he's dead. Leave him. He can't help you._

He takes a step away.

"Aw, no, kid." The new voice is quiet, edged with sorrow. "You really gonna leave a brother behind like that? No, no, no. That's rule kriffing one, _or'dinii._ "

FN-2187 jerks at the voice, spinning and raising his blaster. He freezes in shock when he sees who'd spoken.

It's… one of the ghosts. FN-2187 has been ignoring them for so long that it takes a moment to register the sight of the man standing a few feet away.

None of them have ever actually talked to him before.

"It's not going to do anything, brother. He can't hear you, remember?"

The man tears his gaze away from FN-2187 and turns towards a second ghost who appears beside him. He sighs. The two have the same voice, too.

"Yeah, I know. It's just… none of this sits right with me. They've destroyed everything we fought for, thousands of times over. These poor troopers are too brainwashed to know any better."

"It's not like we weren't brainwashed, either, you know."

"What the—?" FN-2187 blurts out, unable to stop himself. The ghosts are carrying on with their conversation, oblivious to the blaster bolts still streaking above their heads. Oblivious to Slip's continued pleads on the ground. Oblivious to the fact that FN-2187 can hear every word that leaves their mouths.

The two men turn to look at him slowly, raising eyebrows in near-perfect sync.

"What's wrong with him?" the second ghost asks. "He get paralyzed standing up or something?"

FN-2187 opens his mouth to say something and then thinks better of it.

He can't afford to interact with them now. That'll be admitting to himself that he's crazy, seeing things, unfit to serve the First Order. He's worked too hard to be brought down by this now.

He is a stormtrooper of the First Order, and he does not see dead people.

FN-2187 snaps his mouth shut, turns on his heel, and dives back into battle.

He leaves Slip behind the barrier.

* * *

Slip doesn't fail the simulation, but it's close. He'd apparently done enough damage to the training turrets before he'd gotten hit to pass.

FN-2187 is… glad, that he hadn't failed. If he had, he would have been replaced. Then their squad would have had to deal with a newcomer, and that's not something any squad wants.

FN-2187 realizes that the ghosts are following him pretty quickly, mainly because they won't. Stop. Talking. He's assuming it's the same two from the training facility (even though he really can't confirm it). They chat, loudly, about trivial things, like the lights illuminating the hall or the little mouse droid that goes careening past.

They won't kriffing _shut up._

They follow him back to the barracks, where he deposits his weapon and strips off his helmet. They follow him to the mess, where he shovels down today's gray grub for dinner and tries to hold a conversation with Nines and Zeroes (it doesn't go very well). He gets a moment's reprieve when he steps into the 'fresher, but the moment he steps out again, they're back, talking through the dismantling of an F-11D blaster rifle and comparing it to something called a DC-15 for fun.

When FN-2187 returns to the barracks again just before the sleep cycle, tired and a little on edge, they sit at the foot of his bed and _continue to talk._

It's almost impossible to fall asleep, and when he wakes from what little rest he'd managed to get, they're still there.

Talking.

It's still the middle of the sleep cycle—he'd been woken by their voices instead of his own Imperial-inner-clock. No one else is awake, and FN-2187 is losing his patience.

He manages to hold out for a few more minutes, grinding his teeth and mashing his face into the pillow (slab). Eventually, he makes a decision. It's probably a bad one, but at this point he'd do just about anything to get it to stop.

"Kriffing _shut up,"_ he hisses into the darkness. He refuses to look at them, stubbornly keeping his gaze locked on the ceiling.

That's all he says, but the ghosts fall blessedly silent for a moment.

Then:

"Heh. He _can_ hear us. You owe me 10 credits, Echo." The voice is awfully smug. "Told you that would work."

"Shut up, Fives. We're dead, I don't have any credits to give you. Now let the kid sleep, we've tormented him enough as it is."

They don't say another word, and FN-2187 finally falls asleep.

When he wakes up the next morning, groggy and annoyed, his two tagalongs are gone. It's not just them, either— _all_ of the ghosts are have disappeared. He goes around his business for the day and doesn't see a single one.

FN-2187 silently hopes that he's seen the last of them… but somehow, he knows they'll be back.

* * *

 **A/N: This is just for fun. My other star wars fic will take priority, but this will get updated every so often. Hope you enjoyed!**

 **Mando'a:**

 **Or'dinii- fool**


	2. Spectre

"Hey!"

FN-2187 blinks his eyes open at the voice and nearly yelps in surprise when there's another face hovering inches from his own. He manages to restrain his cry (barely), and settles for rolling aside in panic instead.

Right off the edge of his bed.

Ordinarily he's happy with his upper bunk. He's… decidedly less happy with it in this moment.

Nines is already awake below him, and snorts at FN-2187's less-than-graceful emergence. FN-2187's elbows sting from the tumble. He picks himself off of the floor and dutifully ignores Nines' snicker.

"Rough night?" his squadmate asks with a smirk. FN-2187 is still a bit bewildered, and can't think of a good response. He turns to look back up at his bed and startles yet again when he sees the ghost sitting by his pillow. The spectre is swinging his legs, and his half-translucent calf goes right through Nines' head as he sits up. The other stormtrooper doesn't even react.

The ghost sees FN-2187 staring and grins at him, eyes bright. He's got tattoos all over his face—a line up the side of his skull, and a single dot under one of his eyes. There are more decorative designs on his chin.

"Heard you could see us, but I didn't believe it until now," he says gleefully. "I'm gonna be in so much trouble for this, but I don't even care. That was the funniest thing I've seen in a long time."

 _I'm so glad you're enjoying the afterlife at my expense,_ is on the tip of FN-2187's tongue, but he snaps his mouth before it can come out. He turns away and very pointedly does not look at the ghost again.

The spectre is not discouraged.

"I guess you can't talk, not without looking like a crazy person," he says, pushing off from his perch and dropping to the ground. His feet don't make any sound on the floor, even though he's wearing heavy combat gear. "That's alright. I can do the talking. The name's Hardcase. Listen, I've got an idea. We need a code. One tap for no, two taps for yes. Sound good?"

FN-2187 ignores him as he begins to put on his armor. The ghost… Hardcase… doesn't seem to mind.

"So kid, I've got a question that I really want the answer to."

 _Kid._ Why do they all keep calling him that? FN-2187 is twenty-two, he isn't a kid.

(At least, he's told he's twenty-two. It's not like it matters, though.)

"The First Order's got some pretty impressive weaponry, real different from the stuff I'm used to. That FWMB-10 repeating blaster—it's kind of like a Z-6 rotary, except your megablaster is mounted. How heavy is it, exactly? I've been trying to lift one for a long time, but my hands go right through. I wanna compare it, see if it really needs to be mounted."

FN-2187 has no idea how heavy the megablaster is. He's not certified to use one, and will likely never be. That isn't his role. He doesn't know what a Z-6 is, though he's assuming it's some sort of machine gun.

Zeroes gets out of his bunk and begins to put on his armor immediately. Slip's up now, too—he'd gotten dressed while FN-2187 was distracted.

"More training today," Zeroes comments neutrally as he pulls on his boots. "We're almost done. We'll be sent on missions soon."

"Yeah," Nines says. "We'll finally be off of this planet."

Carida isn't too bad, in FN-2187's opinion. Though to be fair, he doesn't go outside very often. There's nothing on Carida except stormtrooper training facilities and a few factories.

"We haven't been here that long," Slip points out quietly. "It's only been two years."

He does have a point. They'd all been stationed elsewhere before being transferred to Carida for more extensive training.

"Kylo Ren's a nerfherder."

FN-2187 flinches.

"Knew that would get your attention. Yeah, you heard me right. He's a pathetic slimeball who still sucks his thumb at night," Hardcase jeers. The ghost steps closer, going right through Slip and hovering at FN-2187's side. "You know why he wears a mask? His face looks like it caught on fire and someone tried to put it out with a hammer."

This time, FN-2187 can't help it—he inhales sharply, torn between laughing and gasping in shock. He still doesn't look at Hardcase, but he knows the ghost is grinning.

"He's nothing but a stuck-up nerve-burner who can barely be differentiated from a bantha's rear end—"

" _Hardcase!"_ someone hisses.

"Kriff," Hardcase mutters, pulling back a little and missing the little glance FN-2187 casts at him. "Here comes the fun police."

"Hardcase, what are you _doing?_ You know what the Captain said, and the Commander, too! Are you crazy?"

FN-2187 surreptitiously glances around for the new speaker, but he doesn't see anyone. Hardcase doesn't seem bothered by that, flopping into the nearest bunk (Slip's) and talking to empty air.

"You know he can hear you too, Dogma. Now we're _both_ disobeying orders."

FN-2187 hears an indignant gasp.

"That's not—I don't— _blast it_ , just come out of there, won't you?" Dogma splutters. "I'm trying to save your skin!"

"Aw, what are they gonna do? I'm dead already, they can't touch me," Hardcase says confidently. "Besides, he's ignoring me. I'm not bothering him."

That isn't true in the slightest.

"...think that'll work, Eight-seven?"

FN-2187 forces the ghost's bickering to the back of his mind and looks at Nines, desperately wondering what he'd been asked.

"Uh, sure," he replies. Fortunately Nines seems satisfied with his answer, turning away with a nod. FN-2187 winces. What had he just agreed to?

"...go tell the Captain what you're doing!"  
"Honestly. Is snitching the only thing you're good at, Dogma?" Hardcase pushes himself off of Slip's bed and walks towards the wall. "Besides, you can't snitch on me… because then you'll be snitching on yourself, too!"

He reaches towards the wall with a swift motion that makes FN-2187 jump. The ghost's hand goes _into_ the wall instead of colliding with it, and after a brief struggle, his hand emerges… closed around the arm of a second ghost.

Interesting. So they can touch each other, and touch some objects, as Hardcase had demonstrated by lying on the bunk… but there are some objects they can't touch, like the megablaster Hardcase was talking about earlier. They can go through walls, but they can stand on the ground just fine. How, exactly, does it work—?

FN-2187 catches himself and exhales harshly, struggling to clear his head.

The ghost Hardcase pulls out of the wall stumbles into the open with a surprised yelp. He tears his arm out of Hardcase's grasp angrily once he's regained his balance. There's an impressive tattoo across his face.

"Hardcase!" he gasps. "Why'd you do that!?"

Hardcase shrugs unrepentantly, then points. Dogma follows his gaze, and is visibly startled when he sees FN-2187 looking at them.

...oh, sithspit. FN-2187 had forgotten that he's trying _not_ to look at them, but their antics had distracted him from his goal.

"I…" Dogma tries to begin, trailing off. He lifts an arm, blinking when FN-2187's eyes momentarily track the motion, stormtrooper training demanding he keep an eye out for possible weapons. "He really _can_ see us."

"Yup," Hardcase confirms, popping the 'p'. "Weird, huh."

Dogma watches FN-2187 for a moment longer, intrigued, before he shakes his head and rounds on Hardcase.

" _You,"_ he snarls accusingly. "You're responsible for making me disobey orders. You can't just—"

"I do what I want," Hardcase tells him. Dogma balls his fists.

"No, you kriffing don't! Now I'm going to get in trouble, and it's all your fault!"

"Excuse me for being curious!" Hardcase shoots back. "It's not a crime, is it?"  
Dogma draws himself up. "The Commander _specifically_ told us to wait before interacting with him. Your _curiosity_ shouldn't matter, not when there are orders to follow!"

"Aw, lighten up, princess. It's fine, we're not hurting anything."

"How do you know that? Look at him, he's getting annoyed! At this rate maybe he'll never talk to any of us ever again! He probably wants us to leave!"

FN-2187 taps on the wall two times, very clearly. Hardcase's sign for _yes._ Yes, he wants them to leave. He wants them to leave him in peace, because these two are almost worse than the two from before. He can barely concentrate on what's actually happen in the real world, much less follow the rapid-fire conversation of the ghosts. His attempt to get rid of them backfires, however—instead of recognizing FN-2187's request, Hardcase's eyes light up.

"Finally responding, eh? So, about that question from before…"

"Hardcase, focus!" Dogma cries in exasperation. He throws up his hands. "I can't believe this. Get it through your thick skull, gunner: We're going. To get. In trouble. Do you _want_ the Captain to chew us out?"

"Ready to go yet, Eight-seven?"

Oh, poodoo.

FN-2187 drags himself out of the ghost's conversation again, looking up at Zeroes. His squadmate lifts an eyebrow at him.

"You've been staring into space for a few minutes. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," FN-2187 declares. A bit too fast. Zeroes stares at him suspiciously a moment longer.

"So, are you ready?" he asks again.

FN-2187 bites back a curse. He hasn't put on his greaves or his boots yet.

"Ah, not quite. Sorry, I got distracted. Just give me a second."

This is _exactly_ why he'd wanted to ignore the ghosts. They're distracting. Any more slip-ups and his squad will start to suspect something's wrong.

He tunes back in to Hardcase and Dogma's argument as he's pulling on his geaves. The conversation has degenerated to mostly Hardcase spitting out insults.

"—insufferable gobermouch _utreekov_ —"

"—this isn't like before, we've got to follow orders—!"

"—kriffing fopdoodle of a karking—"

"Are you serious, Hardcase? What are you, three?"

"—useless pile of bantha fodder—"

"Stop it, you… you… hobgoblin!"

"Hobgoblin, really? That's the best you can do? I'm not impressed. That's not even a—"

Suddenly they both freeze, mouths snapping shut. Their eyes fix on a point behind FN-2187, who can't resist the urge to turn and follow their gazes.

There's a third ghost standing near the barrack doors, arms crossed. He doesn't look happy. He glowers at Hardcase and Dogma, who snap to attention. Dogma goes pale. Well, FN-2187 assumes he goes pale based on his expression. His slight translucence makes it hard to tell. Hardcase blanches.

"Commander, sir—"

The newcomer doesn't even speak. He just gives Hardcase a _look,_ and Hardcase falls silent with an audible gulp.

"Sir, it was Hardcase's fault—" Dogma attempts weakly.

"I don't want excuses," the new ghost growls. Dogma winces. "We'll discuss this incident _later._ Out. Now."

The ghosts obey, heading for the nearest wall.

"You're not even in charge of us," Hardcase mutters mutinously as he goes, but it's half-hearted. They disappear a moment later, and FN-2187 takes a closer look at the new ghost. He doesn't have any visible tattoos, but there's a terrible scar bisecting one of his eyes. When FN-2187 squints at it, he can see that the eye doesn't have a pupil—it's cybernetic, or possibly just a stand-in to fill the hole.

(Ghosts can have cybernetics?)

He's expecting the new ghost to speak, and he isn't disappointed. However, it's brief and quiet, a welcome change.

"Try and get somewhere where we can speak without being overheard," the spectral man orders gruffly. "We'd like to talk to you. We'll be watching."

Instead of leaving through one of the walls as the others had, this ghost simply fades out of sight. He leaves FN-2187 alone with his thoughts and his three other squadmates, who look annoyed to still be waiting. FN-2187 hurriedly shoves on his other boot and signals that he's ready to go.

 _We'll be watching._ Well, that's not ominous at all.

FN-2187 doesn't want this. He doesn't want to be haunted by chatterbox ghosts. He's got other things to worry about, blast it! This one interaction alone has caused his squadmates to watch him in suspicion. It doesn't take much more than that for a stormtrooper to be taken away. He's seen it happen, he knows how it works. This is extremely dangerous, and he can't afford to keep acknowledging the ghost's existences.

But at the same time... FN-2187 is curious.

He's never spoken to someone who wasn't another stormtrooper or an imperial officer. Even though FN-2187 hadn't said anything, it had been sort of refreshing to hear speech patterns from non-imperials. (Or perhaps past-imperials? FN-2187 still has no idea.)

Maybe… maybe he can find some way to get some alone time, just to see what will happen. Then he can tell the ghosts to leave him alone once and for all. Yeah, that'll work. That's reason enough to obey the ghost-commander's orders.

"Hurry up, Eight-seven! Force, we've been waiting for you all morning! Planning on making us miss breakfast or something?"

Blast. "I'm coming!" he tells them, and tries to put the whole morning experience out of his mind.

He's not very successful.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Mando'a:**

 **utreekov- idiot (lit.- emptyhead)**

 **Other:**

 **gobermouch- This is an old Irish term for someone who likes to meddle in other people's business.**

 **fopdoodle- A stupid or insignificant fellow; a fool; a simpleton.**

 **This fic is extremely fun for me, and currently more easy to work on than my other massive project, that's the only reason I'm updating again so soon.**

 **Headcanon: Dogma can't insult someone to save his life. Hardcase, on the other hand, does his research, and pulls out all the stops for the stupidest reasons.**


End file.
